In the movie Amadeus, there were many references made by a smug Mozart discarding the many he considered as part of 'mediocrity', including the character of Salieri and Salieri's music. Yet, Mozart had the gift of genius to hear and see beyond the ordinary doldrums of life--- to mentally (and perhaps soulfully) exist from a tangent of higher dimension.
Or, perhaps it was because Mozart had been given proper training, practiced and allowed no one to deny what he could hear and compose?
The key is- he was given adequate formal training but also had self-interest enough in music to pursue beyond his given knowledge without adding interference from peer pressure mainstream such as the church and royal houses would do, and also, from other musicians and artists of his time. And, in his time, the Internet did not exist.
When the Internet started- it was a wonderful tool of free knowledge and advanced communications once protected by those in intellectual circles with money to do so. Well- it was rather complicated to turn computers on and route to the world wide web in those days. So generally speaking, the respect for the privilege of this 'secret society' interaction tended to filter junk information, marketing, advertising --- completely from within the circles.
Ah-- but then, the thought of a possible computer anarchy and global non-bourgeoisie commoners with great intellect potentially having deeper conversations apart from corporate or political control must have been a feared topic--- because suddenly the new idea was to corporatize the 'world wide web' into the ultimate new highway of communications--- to make it accessible to everyone, everywhere--- with several conditions:
1. make it a money making scheme
2. make it corporate governed with little government interference unless filtering suddenly becomes necessary
3. make it an advertising and marketing playground
Results? Well-- for one- the old adage of 'believe none of what you hear and half of what you see' is now to be challenged as the new era is one of 'misinformation'. It is surely becoming a source of entertainment and gossip, as much as tool of get rich quick schemers and fantasy sales. Basic knowledge has become merely tools for argumentative purpose to see how far the truth can be bent. When knowledge is insufficient, digital technologies are used to create a visual avatar so real and confusing, some cannot even distinguish the differences. Thus the lines of reality and fiction have become more grey and indistinct--- as much as the knowledge we once worked so hard to gain.
Even in graduate schools around the world, the advancements are based on whose arguments were the most undefeatable - not necessarily with the most proven number of tests (most defendable, not just 'defensible'). Patience has become a lost art and as quickly as one can become 'first to market (or the Internet)', well, certainly, that is the same amount of time in which people will have forgotten any perjuries or lies or mistruths that one person may have told to become 'first to market'.
We seem in a world in which truth is no longer an honor and mediocrity has become sainted in a shameful way because it is simpler to claim a post by boastfully braggadocios means than it is to study, work hard, take time and earn respect. Yet, society continues to demand faster and faster speeds --
I wonder only, is this how we will fulfill the Mayan prophecy? Will we once again forget all that has been learned and created to have to rebuild from our forgotten status once more??
15 October 2011
15 July 2011
witnessing the angst of a modern Peter Pan
Recently - I have had the fortune of interacting with a number of people in their twenties, approaching thirty or just thirty. What surprises me is the amount of lost syndrome with wanderlust that encompasses some of them-- to the point of this obsession paralyzing them into a status of non-productiveness.
What do I mean? Well, one young man, who is an interesting conversationalist, has had it very tough over the past few years. However, before those years, he was free-wheeling in California and even signed up to have a 'medical marijuana' card by finding a doctor who would allow his complaints to be written with such treatment. He is no longer on the west coast, but did manage to finish his degree in arts and he is completely at the mercy of his mother's salary in order to survive. His behavior one day is cognizant and coherent. The next day, things are breaking, he is stumbling and slurring - and he sounds just like Keanu Reeves from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure.
One day, he finally opens up to let me know how easy it is to get fake marijuana, as he starts to roll up the items directly in front of me. I assumed he could not afford much, so he couldn't possibly be doing that much.
So, when asked about his stumbling and 'stupor' like symptoms, he starts to explain he is on clozapine, ritalin, elavil, among other items. He says he is seeing a psychiatrist for depression. For some reason--- I can't help but wonder exactly how much of his diagnosis was based on conjecture and not evaluating the amount of 'fake pot' he is doing (or how much real pot he has done in the past). Did the psychiatrist really evaluate his habitual problems, or did he assume an immediate diagnosis?
Why do I ask? I am certainly not damning psychoactives-- as too many I know experiment-- and shamans I know have used to treat people. But they also say-- 'weak soul, weak mind-- stupid and addicted' ...
In other words-- not all people come out able to handle responsibilities in life from using any recreational drug a few times. Some people get stuck.
All I know is, after he goes to gas stations and comes back with a supply--- he parks on top of curbs, stumbles and breaks things... says he is hearing voices and suddenly things work very differently for him than for anybody else--- and his mood goes up and down, and he might crash for 20 to 24 hours straight--- and binge eat.... and then he claims it's all about being tired or having the wrong meds again.
(No - this person is NOT romantically attached nor is he a close associate-- these are just observations.)
I cannot help also notice there are other 28 year olds who are in their career early mid-point, going to graduate school, having children, moving to cities, going on adventures----
And I cannot help wonder-- exactly what is in the 'fake' stuff that he is such a mess? Why can't the psychiatrist see or understand what else is going on?
Strange---
What do I mean? Well, one young man, who is an interesting conversationalist, has had it very tough over the past few years. However, before those years, he was free-wheeling in California and even signed up to have a 'medical marijuana' card by finding a doctor who would allow his complaints to be written with such treatment. He is no longer on the west coast, but did manage to finish his degree in arts and he is completely at the mercy of his mother's salary in order to survive. His behavior one day is cognizant and coherent. The next day, things are breaking, he is stumbling and slurring - and he sounds just like Keanu Reeves from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure.
One day, he finally opens up to let me know how easy it is to get fake marijuana, as he starts to roll up the items directly in front of me. I assumed he could not afford much, so he couldn't possibly be doing that much.
So, when asked about his stumbling and 'stupor' like symptoms, he starts to explain he is on clozapine, ritalin, elavil, among other items. He says he is seeing a psychiatrist for depression. For some reason--- I can't help but wonder exactly how much of his diagnosis was based on conjecture and not evaluating the amount of 'fake pot' he is doing (or how much real pot he has done in the past). Did the psychiatrist really evaluate his habitual problems, or did he assume an immediate diagnosis?
Why do I ask? I am certainly not damning psychoactives-- as too many I know experiment-- and shamans I know have used to treat people. But they also say-- 'weak soul, weak mind-- stupid and addicted' ...
In other words-- not all people come out able to handle responsibilities in life from using any recreational drug a few times. Some people get stuck.
All I know is, after he goes to gas stations and comes back with a supply--- he parks on top of curbs, stumbles and breaks things... says he is hearing voices and suddenly things work very differently for him than for anybody else--- and his mood goes up and down, and he might crash for 20 to 24 hours straight--- and binge eat.... and then he claims it's all about being tired or having the wrong meds again.
(No - this person is NOT romantically attached nor is he a close associate-- these are just observations.)
I cannot help also notice there are other 28 year olds who are in their career early mid-point, going to graduate school, having children, moving to cities, going on adventures----
And I cannot help wonder-- exactly what is in the 'fake' stuff that he is such a mess? Why can't the psychiatrist see or understand what else is going on?
Strange---
23 May 2011
lessons from an animal friend
Many years ago, a spirited little orange striped tabby bolted into my life as he brazenly went out of his way among a hoard of 15 or more kittens to show affection to me from inside a mini-shelter cage. His grand debut occured after the staff attempted to place him into a carrier box-- which he easily escaped from--- then they attempted to place him in a larger corrugate box, duct taped shut-- which he also, too easily escaped from. As he swaggered with his tail high above his hind quarters, it was obvious this was a proud cat full of zest for life. He was all too curious about the aisles of the pet store beyond the shelter cages and did not seem concerned about the giant towering humans running around to contain him.
To get him home safely - I finally took my jean jacket off and gently covered his eyes and wrapped him to pick him up. It was only seconds before he struggled to evade my clutches. However, having had many cats in my lifetime, I was able to hold his nape just like his mother would have, to get him into my car. Fotunately, someone else was driving - so I could hold him on my lap.
On the way to my apartment, the tiny 4 week old kitten decided to place his paws on the window and stretched up as far as his tiny body would go. He did not seem to have any fear---he simply was curious at all the sights and sounds we passed, whipping his head at every new unfamiliar item and interesting sound. When I exited the vehicle, I no longer had to cover his head. He seemed quite content to be looking around and did not even struggle much to get out of my grasp until entering the small apartment.
That was 19 years ago. Through the years, during a bad marriage, the poor cat was thrown about by my ex in fits of rage, endured hunger because of my ex's financial lies and carelessness and also, suffered with me as I sometimes would be in desperate measures and so fearful that I looked to my cat for solace and would hold him for hours while attempting to rest as he seemed to be the only thing to help calm me. But this cat stood by me always--- acting like he was my protector and dog-like in many ways, deciding to train the other cat or safeguard parakeets and fish from harm from other cats or dogs. He insisted I get rest when needed, crying until I would go to bed at times-- then diligently patting down the covers around me as though tucking me in. In the mornings, he would often gently wake me with purring in my ears or pats on my face, so I would not be late for work. And every time I came home, he would vigilantly be waiting by the door for my entry.
For many years, he even chose to learn things from me, doing tricks and learning to use a toilet after only a couple months of training. And no matter how many weeks I would go away overseas or with significant relationships--- as long as he could guard the home with a pet sitter coming by, he would always be so eager to see me again and welcome me. I knew he was special when he would even give up eating just to have time with me during my most busy work travel years.
He proved his loyalty to me to the very end the other week.
Sadly, he did have off/on health problems through the years but refused most attempted medical treatments. I finally had to listen and pay attention to his actions and what he was trying to communicate to me the other year. I fired his previous over zealously pharmaceutical vet and began to make a blend of items he seemed to respond to by eating voraciously. He showed me how to help him live another 6 years by this act - then, this year, he caught colds and began to fail quickly as he became stressed over my final move into our own home.
The last few weeks were difficult at best, as he lost ability in his hind legs and began to slide instead of walk. But he would eat with determination, communicate with his various vocabulary of 'meows' while constantly moving about, as if to try to heal. His new vet even said he thought the cat was acting like we were soulmates--- that this cat was determined to fight to stay with me a little longer.
Then last Monday, as I remained at work for too long, I returned home late at night to him attempting to stand and screeching a loud meow, after which he keeled over with weakness, having used the last of his strength to say hello and good bye once more to me. I held him in my arms through the night as he breathed in shallow breaths while kept his focus on me. In the morning, as I finished my shower, he attempted one more pitch but failed. As I held his head in the next minute- he breathed his last few breaths after looking upon me once more. It was as if he was saying, "I did my best, but I can't wait for you today, so I am going to say a final goodbye now, while you are still here."
Later that day, I dropped his body off at the vet and prepared to travel for work again for the remainder of the week.
It was as though he planned it all-- to the final end, showing me what a true unconditional love could be, regardless of any pain he had from the small tumor I found by his liver, he kept trying to be my companion and trying to communicate, and always showing just how much a spirit could love another being. But then he chose how he wanted to die and he did not even suffer much at all. And he communicated clearly to the very end...
What an amazing lesson he has for all of us.
To get him home safely - I finally took my jean jacket off and gently covered his eyes and wrapped him to pick him up. It was only seconds before he struggled to evade my clutches. However, having had many cats in my lifetime, I was able to hold his nape just like his mother would have, to get him into my car. Fotunately, someone else was driving - so I could hold him on my lap.
On the way to my apartment, the tiny 4 week old kitten decided to place his paws on the window and stretched up as far as his tiny body would go. He did not seem to have any fear---he simply was curious at all the sights and sounds we passed, whipping his head at every new unfamiliar item and interesting sound. When I exited the vehicle, I no longer had to cover his head. He seemed quite content to be looking around and did not even struggle much to get out of my grasp until entering the small apartment.
That was 19 years ago. Through the years, during a bad marriage, the poor cat was thrown about by my ex in fits of rage, endured hunger because of my ex's financial lies and carelessness and also, suffered with me as I sometimes would be in desperate measures and so fearful that I looked to my cat for solace and would hold him for hours while attempting to rest as he seemed to be the only thing to help calm me. But this cat stood by me always--- acting like he was my protector and dog-like in many ways, deciding to train the other cat or safeguard parakeets and fish from harm from other cats or dogs. He insisted I get rest when needed, crying until I would go to bed at times-- then diligently patting down the covers around me as though tucking me in. In the mornings, he would often gently wake me with purring in my ears or pats on my face, so I would not be late for work. And every time I came home, he would vigilantly be waiting by the door for my entry.
For many years, he even chose to learn things from me, doing tricks and learning to use a toilet after only a couple months of training. And no matter how many weeks I would go away overseas or with significant relationships--- as long as he could guard the home with a pet sitter coming by, he would always be so eager to see me again and welcome me. I knew he was special when he would even give up eating just to have time with me during my most busy work travel years.
He proved his loyalty to me to the very end the other week.
Sadly, he did have off/on health problems through the years but refused most attempted medical treatments. I finally had to listen and pay attention to his actions and what he was trying to communicate to me the other year. I fired his previous over zealously pharmaceutical vet and began to make a blend of items he seemed to respond to by eating voraciously. He showed me how to help him live another 6 years by this act - then, this year, he caught colds and began to fail quickly as he became stressed over my final move into our own home.
The last few weeks were difficult at best, as he lost ability in his hind legs and began to slide instead of walk. But he would eat with determination, communicate with his various vocabulary of 'meows' while constantly moving about, as if to try to heal. His new vet even said he thought the cat was acting like we were soulmates--- that this cat was determined to fight to stay with me a little longer.
Then last Monday, as I remained at work for too long, I returned home late at night to him attempting to stand and screeching a loud meow, after which he keeled over with weakness, having used the last of his strength to say hello and good bye once more to me. I held him in my arms through the night as he breathed in shallow breaths while kept his focus on me. In the morning, as I finished my shower, he attempted one more pitch but failed. As I held his head in the next minute- he breathed his last few breaths after looking upon me once more. It was as if he was saying, "I did my best, but I can't wait for you today, so I am going to say a final goodbye now, while you are still here."
Later that day, I dropped his body off at the vet and prepared to travel for work again for the remainder of the week.
It was as though he planned it all-- to the final end, showing me what a true unconditional love could be, regardless of any pain he had from the small tumor I found by his liver, he kept trying to be my companion and trying to communicate, and always showing just how much a spirit could love another being. But then he chose how he wanted to die and he did not even suffer much at all. And he communicated clearly to the very end...
What an amazing lesson he has for all of us.
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